Blackened Sea
When the headache siezes me, it takes me beneath the sea. Bricks tied to my ankles, it drags me down down down to a place where light does not reach. Swimming in inky blue, fish swirl around me, all with the face of you. And they whisper to me sounds of broken memories of swingsets and near-sex and cigarettes and all the times I almost said “I love you”. But things go black and sightless creatures glow like thousands of shimmering stars with fanged apendages that grip and pierce. And soon enough, I’ve lost my breath — beneath the blackened sea.
(So don’t wake me.)
